


From the Inside

by aguantare



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Football, Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:18:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aguantare/pseuds/aguantare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/582647">Simple Design</a>. Niall is his best friend. His best friend, who has just achieved one of his lifelong dreams tonight. <i>You <b>will</b> be happy for him</i>, he commands himself, <i>You will</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: don't know them, don't own them, don't sue me

Niall is the first one out of the five of them to break into the first team. The manager tosses him on late in a lost-cause, 0-4 loss to Manchester United, and in five minutes, he so effectively shuts down United’s left-wing attack that barely has the game ended before the blogosphere is howling with rage, demanding to know where the manager has been hiding this kid. Zayn usually tries to avoid the internet forums and headlines at all costs, but after Niall’s debut, he surreptitiously pulls up a few of the fan forums, scrolls through some of the post-match threads.

_gaffer clearly had no idea what this kid could do else he wouldve and fucking SHOULDVE started him_

_favorite moment: vp trying to go by him and horan knocking him clean over the touchline_

_i want him starting against city next week. blood him while he’s on a high_

It doesn’t make Zayn smile, exactly, because he knows how fickle the fans, and the game itself, can be, but he feels a fierce stab of pride even so. He gets to his car in the car park outside the stadium after the match, leans against the back bumper and types out a quick congratulatory text to Niall. His phone buzzes almost immediately with a reply.

_don’t leeeeaveee i need a riiiiiide_

Zayn laughs out loud, because there’s something kind of incongruous about a footballer who’s just made his Premier League debut still needing to hitch a ride off his friend, but it warms him a little, that Niall still wants to go with him, instead of going with one of his new, older, more famous teammates.

Fifteen minutes pass, and then voices reach Zayn’s ears, one of them with that familiar Irish lilt to it. He tucks his hands in his pockets, listens to the voices get louder, and then Niall is rounding the car at the far end of the row with two of his teammates. They’re all suited up, a post-match club requirement that Zayn has never really understood, but he allows himself to think, just for a moment, about how good Niall looks in a full suit and tie.

And then he pushes the thought away, like he’s grown accustomed to doing, replaces it instead with thoughts of how Niall deserves this, more than anyone else, and how proud he is that people are finally starting to see him for the world class footballer that he is.

Because that’s what teammates, friends, _best_ friends do.

As the trio gets closer, Zayn sees that one of the three is the senior team captain, a man they grew up all but revering, a veteran mainstay of the first team midfield, an England national team captain. He straightens a little, takes his hands out of his pockets; he’s met this man before, but never in such an informal setting.

Niall spots him, bounds the last few yards between them and leaps into him, wrapping his arms and legs around him. Zayn stumbles a little, but manages to keep his balance, and he hears the other two senior players laughing. Niall smells like soap and cologne, his hair still damp from his post-match shower, and Zayn lets himself breathe it in, just for a moment. After a second, Niall huffs out a happy noise into the crook of Zayn’s neck, and sets his feet back on the ground, turns back to his teammates, but keeps an arm around Zayn’s shoulders. Zayn nods a greeting, and the captain looks at them with a smile that doesn’t feel condescending or patronizing in any way.

“Malik, right?” he says, and Zayn nods.

“Horan says you came up through the Academy together, and he thinks you’ll be next up to the First Team before too long.”

Zayn shrugs, knowing he’s not old enough or experienced enough yet to walk that fine line between confidence and arrogance.

“Just trying to work as hard as this one,” he replies, elbowing Niall lightly in the side. The captain’s smile softens a little.

“He’s a good one,” he says, and he’s talking to Niall, but then he flicks his eyes back to Zayn for just a split second, “Hold on to him.”

Niall nods, like a soldier given a command, even throws in a little salute for good measure.

“Yes sir!”

The captain laughs, and he and the other player head off in the direction of their own cars, chatting quietly between themselves. Zayn watches them go for an extra second or two.

“Oi.” Niall flicks his ear, just hard enough to sting. “Let’s go already. Haz already has a round waiting for us at the pub.”

-

Niall gets a round of applause when he walks into the pub. It’s the same pub they’ve been going to since well before they ever actually thought they would get this far and the owner and the patrons all know them well. The owner tells them their drinks are on the house for the rest of the night, and stays resolute even when Liam tries to talk him down to just free drinks for Niall.

“Pay us back with a Champions League trophy in five or six years,” the owner tells them, and from anyone else, it would feel like pressure, like an obligation, but from him, it just feels like loyalty and faith and belief.

Zayn’s on his third beer of the night, standing at the bar and watching Harry and Louis trying to outdo each other with trick shots at the pool table, when Niall slides into the space next to him, pint in hand. He looks soft and relaxed and happy, and Zayn aches, just a little.

“You were really amazing,” he says after a moment or two, “And I’m not just saying that because I’m biased.”

Niall smiles that warm, open smile that he saves for Zayn and the other four.

“Thanks. It’s. I was terrified,” he says.

“Would never have known,” Zayn responds, taking a long pull on his beer. Niall leans into him, the fabric of his suit jacket crisp against Zayn’s bare forearm.

“It’s selfish but. I wish you had been out there with me.”

Zayn hates that he has to remind himself that “you” in this context doesn’t mean him, it means him and Liam and Harry and Louis. Hates that he has to remind himself that no matter how much he wants this, he can’t have it.

Hates that he has to remind himself of Justin Fashanu*.

Niall is his best friend. His best friend, who has just achieved one of his lifelong dreams tonight. _You **will** be happy for him_ , he commands himself, _You will_.

“Maybe soon,” Zayn says out loud, even though they both know it may never actually happen. Injuries, transfers, dip in form, dressing room politics…the number of things that could go wrong and shut any of them out of the one thing they’ve been working for all these years far outweighs the chance that even one of the rest of them will join Niall on the first team.

“And anyways,” Zayn continues, forcing his mind away from those less than pleasant thoughts, “You got to play with some living legends tonight.”

Niall grins at that.

“I felt like a bloody fangirl with a crush every time they passed to me,” he admits, “Butterflies in the stomach and all.”

Zayn laughs, knows he’s probably one of only five people in the world that Niall would ever tell such a thing.

“Well, someday some Academy kid is going to feel the same way about you,” he says after a second. Niall takes it the way it’s intended, a reference to the future.

“Right!” he laughs, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Zayn watches him meander away, towards the pool table.

Thinks,

_We’re not._

Thinks,

_It’s already happened._

-

“So. When are you going to tell him?”

Four more beers and two shots of vodka have made Zayn pleasantly relaxed, and he lolls his head to the side to eye Louis, who’s come to stand next to him where he’s sitting at the bar.

“Tell who what?”

Louis eases a little closer, rests his arm on Zayn’s shoulder.

“Niall. That you love him.”

The alcohol in his system is the only reason Zayn doesn’t jolt away in shock. The sudden spike of adrenaline takes a little longer to hit him fully, and when it finally does, he’s had a moment to actually think about how to react. He turns, looks up at Louis with what he hopes is a neutral expression.

“What’re you on about?”

Louis looks down at him for a long moment. He takes a breath, opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then seems to think better of it.

“Never mind,” he says, reaching up to squeeze a momentary hand at the back of Zayn’s neck, “It’s nothing.”

-

He and Louis get a cab back together, because their flats aren’t too far apart. They fumble their way into the back seat, uncoordinated and giggly with fatigue. Louis gives the driver their addresses and they’re off, waving through the windows to Liam and Harry and Niall, still on the curb.

Zayn trails off laughing about something he doesn’t remember, leans his head against the cool window, watches the city and street lights flashing by in too bright shades of green and white and red.

“Twenty years,” he says, almost to himself.

“What?” Louis asks.

“In twenty years,” Zayn clarifies, “When he has a pretty wife and a couple of kids, and he’s won like five league titles and a couple Champions Leagues.”

“Zayn—“

“Then. Maybe I’ll tell him then. When it’s too late for it to do any damage.”

**Author's Note:**

> * Justin Fashanu was the only English professional footballer to ever come out as gay. He later committed suicide. More information [here.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Justin_Fashanu)
> 
> ** There's a lot of [indications](http://www.advocate.com/news/daily-news/2010/08/08/gay-players-may-help-homophobia-soccer) that [societal attitudes are changing](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/06/11/german-anti-homophobia-ad-euro-2012_n_1586868.html), [slowly but surely](http://www.autostraddle.com/homophobic-swedish-soccer-squad-sacked-in-the-name-of-love-151595/), when it comes to gay footballers. I fully respect the decision of athletes who want to remain in the closet, but I also hope some day we'll see openly gay footballers.


End file.
